The black lines at the center of Wei Zhaoli’s brow continued to spread, tracing a jagged, obsidian web across her pale skin. Her breath hitched, ragged and shallow, as she forced her eyes open to find Shen Xian’s face. Seeing his brow furrowed in a rare display of agitation, a sharp pang of guilt and longing pierced her heart.

“Shen Lang…” she whispered, her voice barely a thread of silk. Her fingertips unconsciously bunched the fabric of his sleeve, seeking an anchor in the storm of pain, but the moment she met his gaze, she recoiled as if struck by lightning, her hand falling away.

Shen Xian’s mind raced, a cold knot of frustration tightening in his chest. Despite the mountain of treasures within his storage rings—enough to make a Sect Leader weep with envy—not a single one was a specialized healing artifact.

Damn it, he cursed inwardly. The System had granted him peerless weapons and defensive wonders, but in his pursuit of absolute martial dominance, he had overlooked the necessity of restorative treasures. For a man who never expected to be hurt, it was a glaring oversight that now tasted like ash in his mouth. Ordinary talismans and Pills were useless against the insidious nature of the Heart-Devouring Gu; they were like throwing pebbles at a rising tide.

As he reached out to steady her, his senses caught a peculiar ripple in her Qi. His eyes narrowed. “This power within you…” He had felt it once before during their escape, a warm, pulsing resonance. “Is it your constitution?”

He recalled the brief mention of the [Heart-Tied Tribulation Body] in her files. While the specifics of such a rare physique were lost to him, he could see it now—a faint, iridescent glow struggling to mend the damage from within.

Wei Zhaoli’s pupils contracted. She looked away, her fingers curling into her palms. She had guarded the secret of her constitution with a ferocity born of pride; to have it laid bare now felt like a final stripping away of her defenses.

“I…” She tried to speak, but the Gu poison chose that moment to flare. A guttural groan escaped her lips as a wave of agony washed over her, cold sweat instantly drenching her robes.

Shen Xian didn’t hesitate. He caught her wrist, his spiritual sense diving into her Meridians. He found that her inherent spiritual energy was locked in a desperate, grinding stalemate with the venom. “This power can suppress the Gu,” he realized aloud, his gaze sharpening.

Wei Zhaoli bit her lip until it bled, nodding weakly.

“But it isn’t enough,” Shen Xian grumbled, his voice low and urgent. “It’s stagnant. Is there a way to catalyze it? To force this constitution to its peak?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and thick. A frantic, rosy hue began to chase away the deathly pallor of Wei Zhaoli’s cheeks. There was a way. Only one way.

Dual Cultivation.

The thought alone made the tips of her ears burn. She was the proud daughter of the Wei family, a woman of icy composure and high standing. To suggest such a thing—to beg for intimacy as a means of survival—felt like shattering a jade vase.

“I…” she began, her voice no louder than the hum of a mosquito’s wing.

“Zhaoli?” Shen Xian prompted, leaning closer.

She turned her face further into the shadows of the altar, her words coming through gritted teeth. “There is… a way.”

“Speak up. I can’t hear you.”

Wei Zhaoli took a shuddering breath, her nails digging into her palms. She forced herself to look him in the eye, her pride warring with her desperation. “Dual Cultivation!”

The words felt like a brand. Though they were betrothed, the act of consummation was a sacred threshold they had not yet crossed. But as the Gu gnawed at her Golden Core, she knew the “greater good” demanded the sacrifice of her modesty. Her face felt as though it were on fire, the heat spreading down the graceful curve of her neck. She didn’t look away this time, but her eyes flickered with a raw, vulnerable panic.

Shen Xian froze. The suggestion was a physical blow, silencing his tactical mind. He looked at her—at the trembling of her long eyelashes and the way she seemed ready to break apart. He understood the weight of her words.

He was a man of two lives. In his first, he had seen many “lie flat,” refusing to bring children into a world where effort yielded no fruit. In this second life, he had seen the cultivation world’s brutality and resolved to remain a solitary peak. Even the Empress, for all her icy allure, was a challenge to be conquered, not a partner to be held.

But Wei Zhaoli… she was the ripple in his still lake. She was the “lively fish” that had turned his path of cold pragmatism into something warmer, something human. And looking at her now, he realized he didn’t want to be a hermit.

He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek with a tenderness that surprised even himself. “You are my fiancée,” he whispered, his voice vibrating with a sudden, deep sincerity. “The one who holds a place in my heart. How could I ever be unwilling?”

Wei Zhaoli’s eyes went wide. For a moment, it seemed as if the man before her was radiating a light more brilliant than any treasure.

“You…”

“What?” Shen Xian teased, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Are you regretting it already?”

“Who’s regretting it!” she snapped back, her natural fire returning for a fleeting second. She immediately bit her lip, realizing how eager she sounded.

Shen Xian laughed softly and swept her up into his arms. “In an emergency, we follow expediency. There’s no turning back now.”

He carried her to the center of the demonic altar, the very place where Lin Lang had sought a dark ascension. Now, it would serve a different purpose. As he laid her down, Wei Zhaoli, trembling with a mix of fear and fervor, flicked her wrist. An [Illusion Array Disc] spiraled out, enveloping the altar in a shimmering, opaque dome of mist.

“Don’t be afraid,” Shen Xian murmured against her ear. “Relax.”

As their spiritual energies finally touched, a violent tremor shook Wei Zhaoli’s frame. It wasn’t pain—it was the sudden, overwhelming resonance of the [Heart-Tied Tribulation Body] reacting to Shen Xian’s supremely Yang essence.

A pale golden light erupted between them, flowing like liquid moonlight. Shen Xian felt a cool, pristine stream of Qi enter his Meridians, so pure it made his [Li Fire True Seal] spin with manic intensity. It was a perfect harmony; his fire found its fuel, and her ice found its warmth.

The black lines on her brow began to recede, melting like frost before a rising sun. As the rhythm of their connection deepened, a phantom Yin-Yang fish manifested above them, spinning in a slow, majestic circle. Suddenly, a wisp of the [Heaven-Burning True Flame] leaped from Shen Xian’s Dantian, flowing directly into Wei Zhaoli.

“Mmm!”

Her head fell back, her pupils dilating as the divine flame purged the last of the Gu’s filth. At the same time, Shen Xian felt the bottleneck of his Golden Core perfection groan and crack. The energy cycle was not just healing her—it was elevating him.

The Yin-Yang phantom spun faster, weaving a cocoon of golden-red light around them. The world outside the mist ceased to exist. In that blinding radiance, two souls merged, driven by the oldest instinct of the heavens, until only the soft, rhythmic tremors of the light remained.